


A fool's heart

by FirenzeSun



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ciri too, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is depressed, Jaskier is tortured, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Graphic Torture, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yennefer cares, brief mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirenzeSun/pseuds/FirenzeSun
Summary: "What do you care?" Jaskier spat at him. He then scowled. "Oh, you're afraid that I'm gonna tell them where you were. I know you think I'm an useless shit, but I actually held out for a week. And I would have held out more until they finally kill me.""I don't care about that!" Geralt exploded. "I won't- I can't-""You should have let me to die in that shit rodden dungeon," Jaskier said with venom in his voice. "Come on, don't give me that look. It's what you wanted, didn't you? The shit with the shit and you got your blessing forever.""Jaskier, no," Geralt said, his anger gone, and instead his face fell."Get out of here. Leave me alone."---Jaskier's tortured by Nilfgaardian soldiers. But even after Geralt rescue him, it won't be so easy to heal their relationship after six years apart.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 794





	A fool's heart

He thought he had known pain. By far, the greatest pain in his life had been his heart breaking when Geralt cursed their relationship and pushed him aside for good. The pain had been constant, dragging him down, a stone in his chest pushing him to the ground. But he had survived, even when he had had no will to live. He put on a smile, and caressed the strings of his lute, and he went on living. It had become his thing. One day at a time, just keep on surviving.

Or he used to.

Days dragged together as he laid chained to the dirty floor. Blood, piss and shit on it. Some of it old, other unfortunate souls that had met his same fate. Some of it, was his. He had been ashamed at first, when he first soiled his pants. But that had been a long time ago, or so he thought. It was hard to measure time when all the reference you had was the intensity of the pain.

The Niflgaardian soldiers had left him the tools a few feet away from him, tools still dripping with his own blood. They liked to leave him alone, so he could ponder on what form the pain would come. They wanted to break him, but jokes on them for Jaskier was already broken. He had been broken since the mountain and now he only had to wait until they pierced too deep, until mal nutrition took him and death finally claimed him.

And once again, it all came back to Geralt of Rivia.

They wanted to know where the Witcher was so they could find the Cub of Cintra. They didn't care when Jaskier told them he hadn't seen the man in six years. He was still the White Wolf's bard and that was all that mattered.

But if there was something Jaskier had it was loyalty. Even now, even after all this time. Of course he knew where Geralt was. He always kept tabs on him so he could walk in the opposite direction. He was going to give Geralt his blessing. And now, as Jaskier coughed blood, he felt relief, soon the Witcher's blessing would be permanent.

He only hoped, that when word got around about how the bard had died, Geralt with his stupid martyr's complex, didn't feel guilty about him. Jaskier had caused him enough grievances, he didn't want to add to it by being blood that the witcher saw in his hands. Not that Geralt would miss him, but he had grieved and blamed himself for complete strangers. Hopefully, Geralt would understand his own idiocy had brought Jaskier here. He had seen the soldiers entering the tavern, and foolishly he had tried to get away under the cover of darkness. But dark roads are a dangerous business for a lone bard, specially one as notorious as him.

He had fought, with the dagger Geralt had once gifted him, what Jaskier had foolishly interpreted as the witcher caring for him. Now, the dagger laid forgotten on the ground with some Nilfgaardian blood on it but clearly not enough.

Jaskier coughed again and winced in pain at the pull on his open wounds. He had been bandaged, just for the sake of keeping him alive some time more. They needed him alive so he could spill the beans. But the weakness in his muscles and bones told him he wouldn't survive this, and that gave him strength. He just had to hold on a bit longer.

He heard noises, metals and the scream of some poor bugger in pain.

A smile graced his bloodied lips. He wouldn't have to hold on for much longer.

The door of Jaskier's dungeon opened, and his torturer had silver hair and yellow eyes. He was more gone that he thought.

"Nice of you to come greet me now," Jaskier said to the figure standing still in front of him. "You've come to take me away, haven't you?"

When the figure fell to its knees in front of him, Jaskier flinched. He was still not fully dead, so he was afraid of the pain his torturer would inflict him under the mirage of the familiar face. "Yes, Jaskier, yes," the figure cried, and the illusion became distorted. That was not his voice, broken and afraid and in pain; certainly not how his voice sounded when speaking to him. "You're coming with me. It's over."

"You took your time," he said, smiling at Death who wore the face of his beloved friend. But Death grimaced and Jaskier didn't understand. Wasn't she familiar with picking up tortured souls? Why would she feel pity for his case? He was just another bard with bad luck. She must had clearly seen worse.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," Death said using his voice, and Jaskier was grateful that she was giving him this parting gift. To hear those words in his voice.

Jaskier's smile was honest and open. "Thank you, Death. I'm ready."

"No! Hold on!" Death cried, but Jaskier didn't registered her words. Darkness descended on him like a cape, and he floated away free.

.

"Abomination!" the man cried when he and Geralt entered the city through one of the many Novigrad's bridges. "Your very existence goes against nature!"

Geralt frowned, but seemed otherwise unaffected by what the priest of the Eternal Fire was babbling.

"Fire! The Fire is coming for all of you! You shan't escape it! It'll come to clean your sins away!"

The witcher snorted as he pulled Roach in while they headed to the inn. Jaskier wanted to scream at the man, and maybe throw his lute at his head. He hated religious fanatics, and he hated those who were intolerant even more. But he contained himself, they were tired after a whole day of travelling, aching for a bath and a bed. Geralt wouldn't appreciate if he make things harder, no matter how unfair.

"You!" the priest shouted, stepping down from his box and pointing at Jaskier. He took vigorous steps for his age, and grabbed the laps of Jaskier's doublet. "You specially, you queer! You, a human mixing yourself with his kind, singing lies and pushing people towards the darkness, asking them to follow a false idol! You specially will burn young lad!"

"Release the bard," Geralt growled, his hand aching for his steel sword.

"You don't command me, mutant," the priest barked.

Jaskier spit him in the face, his saliva falling on the man's eyes, who closed his eyes and laxed his hold on Jaskier. Geralt stepped in and punched the man on the face. "Keep away from us if you know what's good for you," he said and with a hand on Jaskier's shoulder, he stirred him again to their way to the inn.

"You should have let me spit him again," Jaskier said angrily.

"That's an ineffective method, I taught you how to break a hold like that."

"Yeah, but it isn't that satisfying," Jaskier said, his anger righteous and bright. "You don't deserve crap like that from a guy that all is good for is telling others how to live, and who should be accepted and who should be stoned."

"Hm," was all Geralt said, his grip tightening on Jaskier's shoulder. Dark clouds looming in his mind.

"Just you see, I'll sing your praises so well that the whole city will turn against him."

Geralt hummed again. Above them, thunder broke.

.

The pain was the first thing that he registered, a fire burning in his stomach, spreading to every single muscle in his body. Maybe his communpance had come, maybe it was time for him to pay for eternity. The bright light, red through his eyelids confirmed his theory. He had traveled sixteen years with a Witcher, missed him dearly for six, and now, now he was paying for doing what he wanted, with whom he wanted.

The fuckers were right apparently.

The pain stayed stable, and Jaskier was slowly getting used to it. He would have remained with his eyes closed, but he heard movement, so he blinked to look at his new tormentor.

She was beautiful, was Jaskier first thought.

His second thought was that clearly the Gods -the God?- had clearly a sense of humor. Of course, it was her.

"You're awake," she said, and if Jaskier didn't know better he would have said there was care in her voice.

"What is this place?" Jaskier asked, apparently he had kept his curiosity in the afterlife.

"Kaer Morhen," the Yennefer look-alike replied.

"That makes no sense," Jaskier said, and tried to sit up but a wave of pain made him fall back into what seemed like a bed.

"Careful, you'll upset your wounds," Yennefer said walking towards him. She laid her hand on his stomach and whispered some Elder speech words and Jaskier's pain recoiled to a memory in his body.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asked, and tears filled his eyes.

"You almost didn't survive," Yennefer said, but Jaskier heard, _Taking care of you_ and it made no sense. Yennefer hated him. Nobody cared about him. His family hadn't cared, not since he wasn't the man he was supposed to be. His friends didn't care either, and had made that very clearly. So Jaskier's addled mind got stuck in one question.

"Why?"

"You were tortured," Yennefer evaded, looking him as he was an idiot.

Jaskier glared at her.

"I don't hate you, you know?" she said softly.

The memories of Geralt on that dungeon, kneeling in front of him, came back to his mind in a new light. "I don't understand."

Yennefer sighed. "He did a number on you, didn't he?" Her hand still laid on his stomach. "You should rest."

.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw the same figure again but this time he knew it was not Death, it wasn't an hallucination from a feeble mind. He was real, he was here. Jaskier didn't fucking understand what was going on and he was so tired.

He looked contrite and Jaskier hated him for that. He didn't want the pity.

"What are you doing here? Or better yet, what am I doing here?"

"You need somewhere safe to recover, and-" Geralt begun finding comfort in talking about facts, but Jaskier interrupted.

"Then you could have dropped me at Oxenfurt, the other professors would have taken care of me."

"Nilfgaard is after you," Geralt argued, his brow furrowing. Was the fucker getting angry at him? With what right?

"Nilfgaard hasn't even passed Sodden. Redania is safe."

"They could still get to you. They have spies and mercenaries at their service."

"What do you care?" Jaskier spat at him. He then scowled. "Oh, you're afraid that I'm gonna tell them where you were. I know you think I'm an useless shit, but I actually held out for a week. And I would have held out more until they finally kill me."

"I don't care about that!" Geralt exploded. "I won't- I can't-"

"You should have let me to die in that shit rodden dungeon," Jaskier said with venom in his voice. "Come on, don't give me that look. It's what you wanted, didn't you? The shit with the shit and you got your blessing forever."

"Jaskier, no," Geralt said, his anger gone, and instead his face fell.

"Get out of here. Leave me alone."

Geralt stood up from the chair he was sitting, and stopped once near the door. "For what's worth, I'm sorry, Jaskier."

Jaskier looked straight at the ceiling, and ignored the tears.

.

"Geralt!" Ciri screamed, running down the stairs.

The Witcher knew that tone on her, she was scared, something bad had happened. Yennefer also raised up from where she was sitting on the other end of the table to look at Ciri.

"What is it?" Geralt asked, holding the girl's shoulders in his hands, providing safety and comfort.

"It's your bard," Ciri panted. "I saw him, in dreams. They have him. I saw the tools they had. He's not gonna make it."

Geralt's thoughts came to a halt for a few moments before they all came back, screaming at one another. He breathed hard, centering himself.

"Where's he?" he asked through thinned lips.

"A dungeon somewhere. I'm not sure," she was scared, too many traumas for her young mind.

"How do you know it was him?" Geralt asked, not because he doubted her abilities but witcher training meant he had to be absolutely sure.

"I'm not sure. I just knew. He felt- he felt _familiar_." Ciri had felt him as someone she would easily love. As she had felt about Yennefer before knowing her. He had not met this man, but she knew he had a kind heart, and a kindred spirit. She felt the laughs they could share if their paths met, she knew he would sing to her, that he would caress her hair and talk to her until she was asleep soothing her after a nightmare. She wanted to have that. She wanted that familial love. "He also said your name a couple of times."

In her dream, he had been alone, in a dungeon Ciri would have nightmares about. She had seen the Niflgaardian soldier leaving the dungeon after kicking for good measure the man down. She looked around, and it wasn't hard to get what was happening in there. The man had remained silent, his cheek against the soiled floor, he hadn't moved since he had been kicked.

"Geralt," he cried, and Ciri understood. Ciri understood that this man belonged next to the witcher. That this was the one person Geralt still had trouble talking about. She had thought at first that Jaskier has betrayed him, and that was it pained him. But looking at Jaskier, the longing in his voice, she understood it had been the other way around. Geralt had abandoned him, and even so, specially so, Jaskier still called after him, still wanted him.

She had screamed, wanting to reach out, but the man had not heard her. She was less than a ghost to him. She was a memory of a life that had not yet happened.

She woke with a scream, and had run to find Geralt.

Geralt, whose face had turned into a painful expression.

"He needs you," Ciri said.

Geralt turned to Yennefer with an imploring look.

"Come with me, little swallow. We're going to work in your dream so we can figure it out where he is and when all of this is happening."

Ciri sighed, both relieved and worried. It was going to be in all of them to bring Jaskier to safety. She just hoped it wasn't too late.

.

"Hey," Ciri said when she entered the room and saw he was awake. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, but you can call me Ciri," she said extending a hand for him to shake.

"Hello, Ciri. I'm Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me Jaskier," he said taking her hand and leaving a kiss on his knuckles with a soft smile. Ciri giggled and her anxiety upon meeting the man went away. Here was already the easy rapport she had felt, the warm connection. "A very scary lady told me I had to thank you for my rescue."

"I didn't- Geralt did-"

"He did because you told him to. Thank you, princess."

"He missed you," Ciri said, because she needed to fix this that the adults had broken. "I know he regrets whatever he did. He went desperate when I've told him what had happened to you."

Jaskier gave him a sad smile. "It's not your business to worry about that, little lioness. Why don't you tell me instead how you got here. I'll make a wonderful ballad of the brave cub of Cintra."

Soon Jaskier had her animatedly talking about everything that had happened since the fall of Cintra. Her voice got thick during some parts, the parts that hurt the most, but Jaskier tightened his hand holding hers, and Ciri continued. It did him good to talk, she had needed it. Eventually, Ciri begun to get sleepy, so Jaskier moved on the bed and had her lay next to him. Eventually, while talking about druids and trees, Ciri fell asleep, her head on his chest.

For the first time in years, a pressure inside of Jaskier went away. A child's love was a great healing salve apparently. When Yennefer entered to check on him, the sweet smile she sent him, she understood the feeling.

.

"You can't avoid him forever," Vesemir said, sitting next to him on the stool Eskel had taken outside so Jaskier could sit, now that Yennefer had declared him well enough to walk a bit. Jaskier had been going stir crazy, this way he could see the witchers and Ciri train, and he could have a different air outside of the old castle.

"With all due respect, but you raised a brute who has no consideration about other people's feelings," Jaskier replied, his chin on the crutch Ciri had given him. She had claimed she had done it herself, and though the wood clearly had her touch, it was clear Geralt had done most of the work. Jaskier had accepted because he couldn't say no to Ciri, and because there was only so much he could resist the other man.

"I did," Vesemir admitted. "So you must understand he has no framework to navigate how to interact with humans outside of the business transaction. It's not the way it was done with witchers, myself included."

"Oh, I understood that. I did. That's why I stuck around for sixteen years. Despite insults, and shoves, I saw what he wouldn't say. I read his actions instead. But words are important, I made a living around words. Words have powers. Just words alone can crown a man or fellen a king. He used his words, oh, he used them."

"He regrets them."

"I know," Jaskier said, lifting his head from the crutch. "But he used words to hurt me, he's going to have to use them to make it right. Though words alone might not be enough this time."

"You're putting him in an impossible quest, I'm afraid, bard," Vesemir said. "Hard to apologize when you won't let him speak with you."

"Well, he has come victorious from more challenging quests. I'm sure he'll manage if he truly wants to."

"You are not a man to be trifled with, bard," Vesemir said contemplative. He looked at the still frail complexion of the man after imprisonment and torture. Stronger men would have been broken beyond repair. But the man had survived like weed, and like weed that had just been removed, it was already growing again.

"No, I'm not."

.

He was picking up an apple, when steps at his back almost made him drop the fruit and his crutch.

"Careful," Geralt said, his arms midway to grab Jaskier, but they had stopped in the air.

"You scared me," he said, sending him a weak glare. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," Geralt said as explanation.

"So you decided to take a stroll through the kitchens?"

"So I decided to check on you. I heard your steps."

"I'm fine, just wanted some fruit," Jaskier said, his arms taut against his body.

"Jaskier, I-"

The bard sighed, both resigned and frustrated. "No, we're not doing this here. Help me out to my room."

The steps up the stairs where awkward. Even when Geralt replaced the crutch to hold Jaskier, the angle still was all wrong and Jaskier pulled at the stitches on his stomach. Geralt didn't know how to help him, the boundaries between them were eroded and sharp. Touching Jaskier this much already seemed almost wrong. When before he would have no problem getting familiar with his friend's body, not that he used to, now it seemed out of line.

Jaskier sighed again.

"Alright, you big brutish oaf of a man, you can carry me."

Geralt looked at him making sure, asking again with his eyes, but when all Jaskier did was glare at him with a look that clearly rushed him into action before he changed his mind, he didn't hesitate. He put a hand behind Jaskier's back, another one under his knees and lifted him, all while still holding Jaskier's crutch. Jaskier put his hands around Geralt's neck. Geralt tried to ignore how Jaskier's breath felt against his chest, how it made him feel warm, not because he was in the business of denying to himself what he felt any longer but because it wasn't his right. He still hadn't make amends to earn this joy.

He enjoyed it nevertheless, guilt no withstanding.

He laid Jaskier on his bed once in his room, who then sat up on its edge and softly hit the space next to him. Geralt gingerly sat on the bed, conscious of the space that was left between their bodies. How many things he had taken for granted.

"I think it's time we already had that conversation. So if you have something to say, out with it."

"I imagine you also have your fair share of things to say yourself. You can shout them if you want to, though the others might resent that you woke them up."

"I had so many things I wanted to say. I would practice the words I would hit you with whenever we met again. At first they were sad, I would have begged for you to take me back, I would have promised to be less, to be anything for you to keep me once again at your side. Then they were angry. I had found my pride. I would scream at your face and demand explanations. Then they were cold, I would try to hurt you back as much as you've hurt me. And I knew what I could say to make it so. But then, then I was just tired. I just wanted to hear whatever you had to say, whether an explanation, an excuse or a proper goodbye. But six years is a long time. Whatever words I had wanted to say, I had wanted to hear, where lost buried with the knowledge and conviction I would never see you again. Whatever we had, if we ever had it, had died on that mountain."

"I-I'm sorry, Jaskier," Geralt said, voice thin. Witchers' capacity to cry was limited, tears can impair your vision during a fight, but Geralt desperately wished it wasn't like that. Just one tear would had help alleviate the tremendous pressure inside his chest.

"I know you are, Geralt. I know you regret what you said, what you did. I wish it was enough." Jaskier was human, so the words broke in his voice trembling with emotion.

"I don't know how to make this right," Geralt confessed.

"Why?" Jaskier asked, his voice like a whip. "Why do you want to fix this? Is it guilt?"

"Yes," Geralt said, and saw Jaskier's face go blank, the emotion retreating behind a barrier. "I mean, no," he rushed to say. "I- I do feel guilty, but I-I made the biggest mistake of my life. I want what we had back."

"We cannot go back to what we had, not ever again. I can't go back to trailing behind you like a lost puppy. I'm forty now, Geralt. I'm getting old for that."

"Not behind, at my side," Geralt corrected him, ignoring the comment about Jaskier's age. That was a monster he was not yet ready to face.

"I can't do that either." Jaskier raised his eyes and bored them into Geralt's. "I was ready to die thinking you hated me, that my death would be the best thing for you."

Geralt fell to his knees in front of Jaskier and grabbed his hands. "Jaskier, no," he cried. "If you died- it'd break me. It'd leave me hollow. I can't lose you."

"But you did, and it was by your hand," Jaskier stated, looking at him gingerly.

"I know, I'm so sorry," Geralt cried into Jaskier's knees. "I don't want to lose you again."

Jaskier cupped Geralt's cheek and raised his head so they could look at one another. He then pressed their foreheads together. "I wish I could believe that. I really wish I could."

Their breaths mingled as Jaskier's tears fell on Geralt's cheek, leaving a trail. Maybe witchers could cry after all.

.

Sometimes Jaskier's eyes would get lost in the distance, unaware of what was happening around him. Sometimes he just got out of it on his own, and afterwards he was subdued and slowly he would go back to normal, chatting and sprouting stories with everyone. Other times, what took him out of it was a loud sudden noise, he would remain skittish for the remaining of the day and his healing wounds bothered him more. On those occasions, he seeked Geralt out more. He would sit closer to him on meals, and try to remain on the same room. Geralt said nothing about it, and allowed his friend to have the silent comfort.

Things between them were- they were better on a sense, but also worse. They talked again and spent time together, Jaskier didn't sent him away any longer. Even when Geralt was busy teaching Ciri about monsters, Jaskier would sit at a side of the room and listen, sometimes asking questions himself, sometimes making Ciri -and Geralt- laugh. But there was an undercurrent of uneasiness that wouldn't go away. It was Jaskier's fear of losing what little happiness he had found again. It was Geralt's guilt souring his gestures.

So when Jaskier needed him after one of his episodes, Geralt remained silent about it. They weren't at a stage where they could give active comfort at one another. No matter how much Geralt wanted to hold him in his arms and promise him that nothing would ever harm him again while he was alive. But he had not earned back that right.

Jaskier had come to greet him after Geralt returned from hunting. He had killed a deer, great source of meat and leather. He was going to skin it on the side patio, next to where Lambert and Eskel where training, so he could leave the leather drying up on the sun. He had put a hook through the deer's neck to hang it and skin it more easily, when Jaskier made a funny noise that made him turn around.

His eyes were horrified, fixed on the hook and the bloodied knife Geralt was holding. His breathing was coming up fast, his knuckles white holding hard onto his crutch. For the first time, Geralt thought that Jaskier finally saw him as the monster he was. But he discarded the thought, this wasn't about him. He knew the tools that had been used on Jaskier, knew what had caused his wounds. It wasn't even about the knife, but the hook that pulled at the dead animal's skin. He slowly left his knife on the nearby table, and went to approach Jaskier.

"Don't," Lambert stopped him. Both witchers had interrupted their training. "Too bloody, you'll spook him more." Lambert approached Jaskier, and got in his field of vision. "Hey, buddy, focus on me alright. Look at me. Focus on my voice. Follow my breathing, okay? Breathe in, breathe out. That's it, buddy, you're doing great. In, and out."

Slowly, Lambert managed Jaskier to stop hyperventilating. When coming out of it, Jaskier's eyes looked panicked for a different reason. Shame tinted his cheeks now.

"Hey, it's okay. Come, let's go inside," Lambert said with a hand on his shoulder.

Lambert guided him to the kitchen, where he poured two mugs of beer. He handed one to Jaskier, and then proceeded to sit on one of the tables while signaling Jaskier to do the same.

"The days he returned drunk," Lambert begun, "after he grow tired of beating my mother, he would take his belt and use it on me. He once made my mother hold me down while he beat me with it. The first time, she refused. He raped her and left her bloodied. The second time, she didn't refuse, even as she cried. Even after all the fucking monsters I fought, his scars are still there. I hate it when a monster hits my back, when the new scar looks to similar to the old one." Lambert finished his beer with one big gulp and got up to get more. "What's your story?"

Jaskier looked at him, blinking slowly a couple of times. "It was when they broke my hands. Even if I survived, I wouldn't be able to play again. If it weren't for Yen's magic-" he trailed off, considering a world where he was barren of his music before continuing. "They hanged me from a hook then. They only removed me after a while because they wanted to keep me alive for longer. They found other ways to use the hook then."

"It helps," Lambert said. "Sharing it with another person who can understand your trauma." He sent him a look that was clear enough for Jaskier. He could talk to him and Lambert wouldn't think him weak. "We survived. You have to remember that."

A tear fell from Jaskier's eyes. "We did," he agreed.

"Put this on a song and I'll kill you."

.

"Yen," Geralt said.

Yennefer turned to look at him. "No."

"I didn't ask anything yet."

"No."

"Yen," another voice said coming from behind Geralt.

"You asshole," Yennefer said with a resigned sigh looking at Ciri who smiled sweetly at her. Geralt grunted to hide his smirk.

Yennefer transported the three of them to Oxenfurt. Ciri had a glamour on her to make her look like a raven haired boy, while all Geralt had done to disguise himself was wear a hood. Yennefer looked around uncomfortable, weary that someone would recognize them. They would be able to defend themselves of course, but this was a stupid idea. But Ciri was holding Geralt's hand and she was happy to be participating on this.

She sighed. It was endearing though.

"Why here?" Ciri asked to Geralt.

"He studied here, and I suppose that with the university there's bound to be good shops."

"Do you know anything about lutes?"

"More than I should."

"Why can't you recover the lute he had?"

"Even if is still there, the place must be crawling with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Better not to leave them a fresh trail to follow."

"But Yen's portals-"

"Magic can be traced, little swallow," Yennefer replied this time.

"Okay," Ciri said defeated.

.

The sun was setting, and Geralt found Jaskier in his room. He knocked with a "Can I come in?"

"Sure, what is it?" Jaskier asked without getting up from the bed where he was laying.

"I brought you something," Geralt said stepping in, his hands at his back.

"Come here, then," Jaskier gestured him.

He approached him with fast steps and extended his hands carrying the lute. "For you."

Jaskier stared at the instrument, and then stared back at him. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to speak, but he only gaped at him. The wood was expensive, with a exquisite finish. A pattern of yellow delicate flowers decorated its borders.

"The strings are made out of cat gut. I remember you said they were expensive to replace so I also brought a spare set," Geralt explained nervously.

He was suddenly pushed back, having to hold the lute tight, as he found himself with his arms full of Jaskier. His arms were around his neck and his lips were on his. It took him a few seconds, but Geralt buried his free hand on Jaskier's hair and kissed him back. Their lips moved softly against one another, mapping out, feeling. Jaskier moaned and pressed his body harder against his, so Geralt opened up his mouth to receive him. Geralt growled as Jaskier deepened the kiss, and with a hand still holding the lute tried to press him harder against him even though it was impossible.

Just as he had been the one to start it, Jaskier broke the kiss. Geralt tried to follow after him, but a hand on his collarbone stopped him. "This doesn't fix things," Jaskier panted.

"Hmm," Geralt replied, his breath also labored, his body like lava focusing on the warmth of Jaskier against him.

"It is a step in the right direction though," Jaskier conceded. "Now give that to me," Jaskier said stepping back.

Geralt almost didn't let him go, but still growled -whined in Jaskier's opinion- complaining about the distance. Jaskier laughed at him.

"Calm down, you lascivious brute. I haven't played in ages, so give it to me," he said extending his hands.

With a grunt for show only, Geralt gave him the lute to Jaskier who sat down and started tuning it immediately. After some moments of hesitation, Geralt sat on the bed next to him to hear him sing.

.

The change on Jaskier was significant. Though he couldn't dance along, he would sit on the dining room or outside while they trained, and he sang all day. He composed songs about wolves in their dens, about scary witches rescuing pups and about a warm home in the coldness of winter. Some songs though, some songs were dark. They talked about pain and suffering, about lack of hope. They usually left him alone when Jaskier was with those songs, only Lambert stayed some times when he played them.

Geralt and Jaskier had not kissed again, but they talked again, as they did before it all went downhill. Better even than before. Geralt reigned in most of his insults towards Jaskier, and even though he sometimes faked annoyance, the smiles he failed to hide where indicative enough of the playfulness of it. Jaskier wouldn't stop talking, rambling about everything and nothing, most of the times. But sometimes, when Ciri had already gone to bed, and they were alone with a mug of ale that had lasted at least an hour, Jaskier would talk about deeper stuff. He told Geralt about who he had been, why he had left nobility. And with less words, Geralt would tell him about growing up to be a witcher. About the friends he had lost along the way.

They would each go back to their own rooms afterwards.

Until one day, when he had left Jaskier at the door of his room and was about to head to his, Jaskier grabbed him by the wrist.

"Come with me," he said.

"Why now?" Geralt asked with open confusion.

"I was never able to resist your pull for long," Jaskier said and the irony was that Geralt let himself be pulled by Jaskier until he was in front of him.

He rested his forehead on his. "Jaskier," he whispered. "I- I don't want you to- Not if-"

"Come with me, Geralt," Jaskier said dragging him to his room.

Geralt followed him, pliant on Jaskier's hand. He let himself be pushed onto the bed, until he was sitting on it. To his surprise, Jaskier sat next to him.

"Are you- are you willing to try this?"

Geralt raised his eyes, the sun looking to the sky. "I am."

"Will you push me away again? Will you hurt me again?"

"No, for Melitele's sake, no. I won't ever do that again," Geralt said desperately, taking Jaskier's hands to his lips.

The smile Jaskier directed at him, was sad and hopeful. "Don't do promises you can't keep, witcher. I don't want a fool's hope. But if you're willing to try, if you're willing to do better for as long as you can, then, I think I'm ready to try it too."

"I am, I swear I am." Geralt gave another kiss to his hands, and then left them softly on Jaskier's lap. He grabbed Jaskier's face, his thumbs caressing his cheeks. "I love you, Jaskier."

The bard's eyes filled with tears. "Well, that's good," he smiled shakingly. "I love you too, if you were wondering."

"I know," Geralt said softly, a smile that was open and genuine.

And those words and that smile traveled in the air, they entered Jaskier's chest and sewed his heart back together. It was just the stitches, it would still need time and love to heal, but now, it finally could.

They kissed, soft and unhurried, sealing the promises they were making to one another.

"Can I fuck you?" Jaskier asked in a sigh.

"Please," Geralt begged, he had never heard more beautiful poetry coming out of those lips.

As they undressed each other, no poetry ran through Jaskier's head. No music attempted to pull through. For once, Jaskier was fully in the moment, savouring every new patch of skin that Geralt let him see in this new light. Savouring the way Geralt's fingers traced his skin as the clothes fell to the floor.

"Geralt," Jaskier moaned.

"What do you want?" Geralt breathed against his neck. The trails of saliva cooling on his skin making him shudder. "Anything you want. It's yours," he promised, the light of his sun eyes brightening the sky that lived in Jaskier's.

"You, you big oaf. I want you," Jaskier said, pushing him down so Geralt fell with all of his weight over him, pinning him against the bed. "It's always been you."

"I'm yours. You have me," Geralt said as he kissed him again, his eyes clouding with emotion. "I was always meant to be yours."

Jaskier laughed. "Are you trying to be romantic or does my witcher finally believe in Destiny?"

"You're still at my side, even after all this time, after everything," there was awe in Geralt's voice, and even some mirth. "You make a believer out of me."

"Oh my Melitele! You _are_ being romantic!" he exclaimed and laughed as Geralt went back to pamper his neck with kisses and bruises.

Then Geralt moved his hips just right, and his laugh transformed into a groan. He devoured Geralt's mouth one last time before he pushed his chest. "Get up, I gotta get the oil."

Geralt let himself fall to the side, a smirk in his lips as he saw the hungry look in Jaskier's eyes and the way his tongue went out to caress his reddened lips. But when he returned to the bed, oil in hand, it was Geralt's turn to swallow hard, his dick twitching. "Now, let Master Jaskier take care of you," he said with a predatory look.

There was some kind of poetic symmetry on a monster hunter enjoying being prey in the bed, but Geralt did not have the capacity to care about that. Not when Jaskier climbed between his legs and kissed him in a commanding way that still allowed Geralt to chose. And Geralt folded, giving himself up to Jaskier. He chose this, _him_.

Jaskier kissed his thighs, feeling the small tremors that went through Geralt. He knew why Geralt was nervous. It wasn't just the step that this meant in their relationship, it was the trust he was showing to Jaskier. Because the man before him was allowing himself to be vulnerable in a way he had not been for anyone, not even Yennefer. And it wasn't because the physical act, Jaskier was sure of it. But he aimed to distract him with the physical, so he trailed his kisses upwards and then swallowed Geralt down.

"Jaskier!" Geralt exclaimed at the sudden act. Jaskier didn't acknowledge him and just did slow slides up and down that had Geralt trembling for an entire different reason. "Oh, _fuck_ ," he moaned, a hand going down to bury in Jaskier's hair, needing to hold on to something.

Jaskier had always loved giving head. He loved being able to give pleasure with his mouth, and not just with pretty songs. Words had power and so did his tongue as it caressed the most vulnerables parts of a person. But the power of having Geralt of Rivia, his White Wolf, the man he had loved since he was eighteen, moaning his name as his back arched in pleasure was beyond comparison. If he wasn't careful he might just come from this alone.

With expert hands, he oiled his fingers and begun caressing Geralt's perineum.

"Jaskier, please," Geralt begged his deep voice even lower than usual and so broken already.

He started with one finger, and ignored Geralt's pleas for more. He wanted to do this slow, to take care of his witcher, to be gentle with him. He knew it would be torture for Geralt. To have to accept slow gentle care instead of rough tough love, but it was part of his penance. Geralt would have to learn to accept Jaskier's soft love and not run away.

But after a while, he was three fingers in, and Geralt was sobbing quietly, even if there were no tears escaping his eyes, as Jaskier used his tongue on the crown of Geralt's dick.

"Jaskier, please, I need you," Geralt implored, and Jaskier couldn't resist it.

He came up with a loud pop and a smile, and kissed Geralt to let him know he had him. Geralt whined into the kiss, already disarmed, even before they got to the main course. The hand that had simply held Jaskier's head now pushed him against him, retained him. His message clear, he couldn't let go of him, he needed him close. Jaskier kissed him passionately but slowed down until he moved back with one last peck against him. I'm not going anyway, he was saying.

"Are you ready?" he asked as he oiled his cock. Geralt glared at him, oh, there was his grumpy witcher. "Alright, alright."

They had similar heights, but Geralt always felt bigger than him, and not just because of his muscles. But in this moment, as he entered him, as Jaskier was surrounded by him. He was the increasing warmth around his cock, the soft broken moans in his ears, the hair cascading through his hands, the legs around his waist, the sweaty chest against his nipples. In this moment, the witcher that had always been bigger than life, bigger than his own heart, he was no more than him. As Geralt buried a hand in Jaskier's hair while the other held onto his shoulders, surely to leave bruises, as if he too was overwhelmed; they were equals.

"Jask, Jaskier," Geralt moaned along other broken sounds as Jaskier moved at a slow but firm pace.

The sun stared at the sky, two elements depending on one another. For the sun depended on the sky to live in it, and the sky couldn't be alive without the sun. Jaskier moved inside, each thrust drawing them closer and closer together.

"You're doing it so well," Jaskier praised him. "You feel so good around me, so fucking good."

" _Jaskier_ ," Geralt moaned again, tears escaping him at his words. The witcher was crying.

"I knew- I knew you were meant for me."

"Yes," Geralt agreed, his back arching as Jaskier hit right at his prostate.

Jaskier kissed his exposed neck, as he accelerated his thrusts. But then moved back, groaning in annoyance.

"I can't hold this position, fuck."

Geralt kissed him on the mouth, his legs falling back onto the bed. "Turn around," he said, gently shoving his chest so Jaskier understood his meaning.

With a huff of frustration, that Geralt kissed immediately, Jaskier left Geralt's body and lied in the bed next to him. Geralt straddled him, and smiled at him.

"Fuck," Jaskier cursed. "Are you going to fuck yourself on my cock?"

"Hmm."

"Fucking Witcher," Jaskier cursed as Geralt grabbed his cock and slowly descended onto it.

When he bottomed out, Geralt let himself fall forward, his hair falling down, as a curtain separating Jaskier and him from the rest of the world. His first movements were as his fights, precise and powerful; he wanted to feel every inch of his bard's cock. Their breaths, hot between each other, as Geralt picked up the pace. Their lips touched with the sway of Geralt's hips, their moans travelled from one mouth to the other.

After a while, Jaskier needed to look properly at his lover, so he gathered Geralt's hair in his hands to let the candlelight enter. There was something raw in the way that they looked at each other as Geralt fucked himself on Jaskier's cock.

"I love you," Jaskier said, knowing he had nothing left to lose, nothing worth hiding from the man over him. It was a crevice right through his chest, right into the deepest of his soul. It was visceral, painful and true.

"I love you," Geralt breathed out in response, his hands tightening on Jaskier's shoulder as if in pain. It was the sword cutting open and guts falling.

It was knowing they could share this open wounds with one another, knowing they were in safe hands.

When Geralt came, he did it with a sob, his body clenching on Jaskier's. His body tensing backwards and then falling forward. Jaskier held his waist and thrusted up half a dozen times in his relaxed body and he was coming too, leaving his mark deep into the witcher's body.

That night, Geralt didn't return to his room. He slept next to his bard, holding him in his arms. He knew, that come morning Jaskier would be there with his annoying snore and his blinding presence that illuminated Geralt's existence.

.

Her hands glowed with magic. "Ciri, can you feel his blood, his guts?" Yennefer asked.

"Oh, that doesn't sound creepy at all." Jaskier complained.

Ciri glared at him. "Shh."

"It's not that I do not trust your magical capabilities, my darling, is just that I wish you weren't practicing with _my guts_."

"And if you want your guts to remain in place, you will shut up, stop squirming and let Ciri concentrate," Yennefer spat.

"Your concern for me is touching."

This time both Yennefer and Ciri silenced him.

"I can feel it," Ciri said after a while.

"Feel for the traces of magic," Yennefer said. Ciri nodded. "Now, remove them."

The girl's face twisted in concentration. Jaskier yelped and jumped slightly, and then Ciri's hands stopped their shining and she smiled. "Done."

"Well, bard, you're officially healed now," Yennefer stated.

"This calls for a celebration!" Jaskier said getting up, and kissing Ciri's forehead who giggled.

"If it has alcohol I'm in," Lambert chipped in. Yennefer groaned.

"But of course, what kind of celebration could be possible without copious amounts of fermented beverage? Such nectar shall be necessary along my most finest music. And what say you, my princess, if you accompany me to the kitchen and help me in the production of the most exquisite pies that have graced this halls?"

"Geralt, your bard is fully recovered!" Lambert called getting away from the avalanche of words.

.

The pies turned out passable of flavour and a complete aesthetic disaster, which wasn't as bad considering nor Jaskier nor Ciri had any actual cooking skills. Eskel and Geralt occupied themselves of roasting the boar they had hunted. Yennefer then took Ciri away, with a glare towards Jaskier, to clean the flour from Ciri's hair.

During the feast, Jaskier sat next to Geralt, the concept of personal space forgotten once again. It was like they were back at a crowded tavern and not in the empty halls of Kaer Morhen. Had the other Witchers not gotten used to how tactile with Geralt Jaskier actually was, they would have mocked him. As it was, only Lambert did, and he got bread in his face for his troubles courtesy of Eskel.

Food out of the way, and Jaskier pulled his lute. He danced with Ciri and even with Yennefer once. He sang several witcher songs, appropriate for all ages, until Ciri was off to bed and he took out his raunchiest songs. By the time he was done, his chest heaved, his cheeks were red and his forehead shone with sweat. He looked at Geralt with a big satisfied smile, that made Geralt growl.

"Upstairs," he said. He had been looking at him all night long, rejoicing in the sight of his bard in his element. But this time, unlike before, he was allowed to stake his claim in him afterwards.

Jaskier giggled as Geralt pushed him across the corridors, with a hand on his elbow.

"Are you going to go all possessive and growly on me everytime I sing? Even when we're back at moldy middle-of-nowhere taverns? Or overflown taverns in the middle of big cities?"

Geralt growled.

"That's what I thought," Jaskier said turning around to kiss him even if they were not yet in their shared room.

Jaskier was only healed physically, his heart and soul had still a long way to go. Nights ahead of nightmares and anxiety awaited him, days of fearing even his own shadow. Geralt would be there for him, but the man still had much to learn. But as Geralt picked him up, his legs around his waist, to carry him to their bedroom; as he laughed into his neck before kissing it, Jaskier didn't care. For the first time in a long time, he was hopeful. He understood that even broken people could find happiness.

Maybe, probably, their story would still end in heartbreak. Maybe one day they would use the broken pieces of their souls to stab one another. Or maybe, inevitably one of them would get killed either by a monster or a damnable human. Maybe no matter what, their story would be a tragic ballad used to instill fear in young hearts about the dangers of love.

However right now, none of that mattered to Jaskier. What mattered was what they had right here, the way the sun in Geralt's eyes shined as he deposited him in the bed. Maybe having hope made a fool out of Jaskier. But as their lips found each other again, Jaskier accepted to have a fool's heart.

"I love you," said the lark to the wolf. A fool indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it, and that the end wasn't super bittersweet, but I couldn't help myself, I'm hunted by how the books end (even if I haven't read them yet)


End file.
